More Than a Memory
by caithream
Summary: Minerva McGonagall's thoughts during a memorial for Lily and James. Complete.


A/N: I very much doubt this ever happened in the Potter-verse, but the thought came to me one day, and I thought, well, why not:)

* * *

Mid-morning found itself enveloped in fog; it was cold and crisp and the November sun shone weakly through the dense haze. It was, Minerva decided, wretched.

It had been a terrible past two weeks.

Or, she thought, maybe just a terrible past forty years. And she was sure the next forty weren't going to be filled with pleasantries either.

In any case, here she was, a bundle on her lap, horribly wishing that she was anywhere but here. She was sure most others were thinking along the same vein, though no one would let on about it, of course. It was only a short time ago when people scurried from one safe place to another, constantly watching their backs, not even daring to go out in the daytime, much less at night. To be gathered as they were with significantly less danger (though not entirely eradicated) was a real oddity. Still, each hand strayed to their wand every so often, mostly out of habit.

The bundle squirmed, and she tutted softly, pulling a small, woolen cap that had somehow gotten loose over a small head. Albus, who was sitting close by, noticed.

"How are you fairing, Minerva?" he asked solemnly.

"I've seen better days," she replied tartly. "Albus, I don't think this is entirely safe for the boy."

"I do think the cap will keep young Harry warm."

"You know what I mean. Just because You-Know-Who is gone does not necessarily mean we can start having picnics in the open."

"No indeed," Albus said, tipping his head. He paused, and lifted Harry's cap slightly to see a shining, bright red scar on the young boy's forehead. Harry babbled happily, and reached for a glinting gold ring on Dumbledore's finger.

"He will be fine," he said finally, smiling down at him. "Harry will be just fine." The boy just grinned toothily up at the old man.

Minerva wanted to point out that losing one's parents only two weeks prior didn't exactly fall under the definitions of "fine," but she held her tongue. And there were still very few Death Eaters running around, though most had scattered under You-Know-Who's demise; bringing Harry to his parents' funeral wasn't the best of ideas, in her opinion.

_Memorial_, she checked herself. James and Lily's bodies were never found in the rubble that was their home. Only their wands. And, of course, Harry.

What a tangled mess of emotions she had felt that night. To learn that James and Lily, two of the most gifted people the wizarding world had to offer, but most importantly two of her former _students_ in her own House, had been murdered was the crushing blow in a long string of attacks. It seemed impossible, but unfortunately not improbable; it felt to Minerva that they had only just come out of Hogwarts. They were so young. And what of their son?

Well, now. That, she recalled, had been a stunningly remarkable story. She had assumed that the baby had been killed as well, but it was entirely the opposite. The demise of the world's most fiendish and evil enemy (Muggle _or_ Wizarding) had been brought about by the innocent and unassuming child on her lap, who was at the present time clearly starting to become bored and was fidgeting for a way to get down. Minerva gave a tiny sigh and placed a small stuffed animal - a deer or a stag, from the looks of it - into Harry's hands. It was one of the few items that had been found among the wreckage, oddly enough.

Having solved that matter (for the time being) , Minerva glanced around to make sure the Aurors were still in their places. They had left nothing to chance, especially with Harry being here, even though he was obscured and out of plain sight. _Albus and his ideas_, she thought. Harry had been with the relatives of Lily Potter for a week and a half before Albus and she dropped by to not only see how they were fairing, but to also inquire if Harry could accompany them to the memorial for his parents. There was, of course, a huge and raucous uproar when the father - Vernon, was it? - opened the door and saw the ones responsible for, as he put it, "dumping this abnormality on our doorstep!" Albus had quietly insisted that it was for the best, which left Vernon very purple and spluttering. At that moment, Harry teetered in, and Vernon muttered something unpleasant under his breath.

"He won't be gone long," the headmaster had said, ignoring Mr. Dursley. "A day, or two, at the most."

"Take him as long as you bloody well please," Vernon grumbled. "And see if you can do something about that damned scar, while your at it."

They had gathered up Harry, and left; and that was that. A well-placed Obliviate charm was in order when they returned Harry, she had thought. Those horrible people. She wondered if Albus had done the right thing by leaving the boy with them.

There was a gradual hush in the milling crowd, and everyone found their seats as the memorial began. There were a great many people who were to speak about James and Lily; their life, their commitment, their bravery, and their son. One by one, they spoke: Emmeline Vance, Filius Flitwick, Horace Slughorn, a smattering of old Gryffindor housemates, and most, if not all, of the Order of the Phoenix to which Lily and James belonged. Those of the Order who were still alive or could be here, anyway. Just three days ago they had found Frank and Alice Longbottom after being captured for nearly a week, but discovered they had been driven insane; prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus, the medi-witches at St. Mungo's said. They, too, had a young son - Nigel or Neil, or something of the sort - probably the same age as Harry. Yet another terrible loss.

In the back of her mind she knew someone else was missing, and it was then that it suddenly hit her: Lupin, Black, and Pettigrew. It was one stupefying story after another. Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew were the main cause of numerous gray hairs for her during their years at school, the former two being exceptionally good at wearing her patience thin. But to hear that it was Black who gave You-Know-Who the information of the Potter's whereabouts? Especially since they were nearly inseparable at school? Absurd. But Albus had confirmed it, as well as the fact that Black had killed Pettigrew when Pettigrew tried to stop Black from running. It was no wonder that poor Remus Lupin was not in attendance, what with two of his best friends dead, and another a traitor, thrown straight into Azkaban.

Finally Albus rose and gave his eulogy which was indeed very moving; Minerva found herself blinking rapidly at times. They had been so young. She glanced at Harry. He would never have any recollection of either of them. As he sat, he had no idea where he was at this very moment, or of even who he was. Well, he would find out soon enough; perhaps those offending Muggles that were his family would have the good enough sense to tell him. She hoped.

"Ba," said Harry, looking up to his caretaker and offering his stuffed animal. Minerva pulled herself out of her reverie. She smiled wanly at it and gave it an awkward pat. Harry watched for a second and then crammed the leg of the stag into his mouth.

"I do think," Albus said as he sat back down in his chair, "that I have had enough of these to last a lifetime. Of course, maybe I shouldn't say such things. You might be speaking at my memorial next week, Minerva."

"I hardly think that's something to joke about," she replied. She hesitated, pursing her lips slightly. "I still think we shouldn't have brought young Potter. I doubt he'll even remember it."

But Albus just smiled, bringing the familiar twinkle to his eye.

"He may yet."


End file.
